


What Once Was Lost

by pi314159geek



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Rewrite, F/M, Gen, I don't like canon rumbelle so this is my response, post-ep s1e22: a land without magic, references to past imprisonment, sorta fluff, working through relationship issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24696214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pi314159geek/pseuds/pi314159geek
Summary: My rewrite of the wishing well reunion scene in 1x22/2x01. Rumplestiltskin, with his self-loathing tendencies, blames himself for Belle's imprisonment. Belle reassures him of her love and asks him to look to the future, not the past.This is my way of trying to address some of the subtler issues that I saw both in the reunion scene itself, and the Rumbelle relationship issues that resulted thereafter. Cross-posted on FF.net.
Relationships: Belle & Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Kudos: 36





	What Once Was Lost

Rumplestiltskin's stride is as sure as always — he does not need that cane with the golden handle anymore, not with magic here — and she thinks of what a sight she must be next to him, her hair a tangled mess, wearing a ridiculous winter jacket over a thin hospital gown. She is still clinging to the cloth of his suit jacket, clutching his arm, grasping onto anything that is him, her only certainty in this strange new world.

She recalls the alias that Jefferson had used for him. _Mr. Gold._ Who on earth picked the names around here?

Oh. Right.

But when the purple cloud of magic races out to engulf the town, she watches Rumplestiltskin and his skin does not change. Does not return to the strange, scale-like texture it had before, in a land with magic, and she cannot help but wonder—

"Your skin. Your curse," she blurts before she can help herself. "Is it..."

He looks up mournfully from the stones at the base of the well, not meeting her eyes, and shakes his head ever so slightly. Then he turns his head to watch her tentatively.

He is _afraid_ of her reaction! Belle wants to laugh out loud. The most powerful sorcerer in the world fears what she, a small and confused mortal girl, might say when she learns that his curse remains intact?

But although the curse on the town might be broken, the curse on her True Love is not. Relief crawls over her, followed immediately by guilt. So that meant that there was no one else, no one he'd met in this new land, with the ability to kiss away his curse...

"I'm sorry," she blurts before she can help herself. "I know it's silly of me to ask, but I just..."

" _Don't_ apologize," he snaps, and she starts at his harsh tone before realizing that that anger is not directed at her. He is angry at himself, or thinks _she_ should be angry with him. Or both.

 _Is_ she angry with him, for ordering her out of his castle, for dissolving their deal forcefully when she came back to him the first time? He had said he didn't want her anymore, that his power meant more to him than her, seemingly indifferent to the wreck he was making of her emotions.

Those questions race through her mind, and she selfishly does not want to consider them, as they threaten to upset her only bedrock in this world — that he loves her. _He said he did, not five minutes ago_ , she tells herself stubbornly. _He never said that before, and now he did_.

 _And returned to his magic not two minutes after_ , the snide voice returns. That is the voice Belle hates, the one she heard in her mind when Regina hurt her, taunted her, offered her a potion to make her forget her True Love.

"I'm sorry," he was saying. "I never should have sent you away. The things I said, and I — the Queen — if I had known—" He chokes on his grief and his anger, and seeing the master of words utterly tongue-tied strikes Belle to the core. She can only watch him, blink at him confusedly in the daylight that her eyes are still not fully adjusted to. In his speechlessness, her Rumple is more honest and true than he ever was as the imp with his prancing theatrics.

When she says nothing, Rumplestiltskin appears to give up attempting to formulate his thoughts into words and only looks longingly at her. This stare is so different from any he directed at her in the Dark Castle — those were guarded gazes of exploration, of curiosity, of fascination, while this is a look of open desperation, yearning, desire.

 _Desire for what?_ The answer to that question — _all_ the possible answers — fill her with apprehension and hope. The air between them is filled with a strange blend of simultaneous tension, familiarity, and apprehension, and the thoughts and feelings racing through her mind are so jumbled that she can think of nothing to do except stand there and watch what he will do.

Finally Rumplestiltskin moves from his trance, his hand going to lean his cane against the well. Then he slowly, impossibly reaches upwards, crossing the gap between them, moving towards her. For one beautiful moment, she thinks that he means to touch her face, or perhaps stroke her tangled hair — but then he seems to find something in her expression that he doesn't like. (Confusion? Reluctance? Certainly not revulsion. She is sure that he stopped looking for that in her eyes a long time ago). Whatever it is, his face crumbles, and his hand falls back to his side.

"Forgive me," he begs simply, clutching the hand of hers that is still joined with his, not presuming to touch her any more than she has already permitted him.

"Can your curse be broken, here?" she asks. And she knows it is cruel for her to keep following her own line of thinking while he still waits on tenterhooks for her response. But she desperately needs some answers of her own, here, too. He looks nonplussed at the question, his grasp on her hands loosening slightly.

"No," he says flatly, restoring to the indifferent, academic tone with which he usually explained magical matters. "The curse of the Dark One...it's a thing of the Enchanted Forest. It was created there. It must be broken there." He trailed off, the academic mask slipping away, suddenly looking desperate.

 _Then_ it hits her. Why he is so apprehensive, even after she has assured him that she does not blame him for Regina locking her away. It is not the Evil Queen standing between them, not anymore. It is that he thinks she won't accept him, with no way of breaking his curse in this land. The silly man! She first fell in love with him when he was cursed, when he still had scaly skin and called himself a monster and kept all the mirrors covered. He is intelligent and cunning beyond belief, and he cannot fathom that her love remains constant between this world and the last? She cannot force him to give up his power, or to abandon the darkness that seems inherent in him. Magic and darkness are not what truly matter. She trusts him, trusts in their love, and believes that they can build a new life here, together. Curse or no curse.

She smiles fondly, hopefully, and Rumplestiltskin looks genuinely terrified at such an unexpected reaction. His voice cracks a little. "Belle, I..."

Belle flings her arms around his neck and kisses him. Tentatively, at first, since she remembers the last impulsive kiss, the one that frightened him and resulted in her being thrown out. But he returns the kiss this time, tangling a hand in her hair as he leans into her.

When they finally break apart for air, her calves cramping a bit from the strain of balancing on the balls of her feet, Belle reluctantly drops her arms from his neck and lets her hands drift to his shoulders instead, gripping tightly there as though that will drive home the message. She studies his wide brown eyes with as much intensity as she imagines he studies hers, looking for signs of her words getting through to him.

"I forgive you, Rumplestiltskin," she says clearly, with more surety than she has spoken anything in a long time. (Certainly she could never speak like this to the severe nurse who brought her food sometimes in the asylum). "And I love all of you, curse and darkness and all. Please, don't doubt that." She knows her voice sounds whiny and pleading as she says the last, and she flushes self-consciously.

"I could never doubt you, Belle," he breathes, and _finally_ he raises his hand to brush against her face. She leans into the touch — welcome after years of what amounted to solitary confinement, and the times the nurse held her arm steady to inject more drugs don't count. His hand falls away far too quickly.

"All that, that's in the past. But now — here, in this town — we can have a fresh start. We can —" she bites her lip self-consciously — "we can be together. If — if that's what you want," she adds hastily. She'd always been so careful around him in the Dark Castle, knowing his tendency to pull away at any signs of fondness or tenderness. But after decades of being apart, she was truly sick of waiting, ready to throw caution to the winds.

Rumplestiltskin always said that subtlety wasn't Regina's strong suit. She's pretty sure it isn't hers, either.

"Of course I do, sweetheart," he says, and she loves everything about that statement — his ever-so-slight hesitation before using the endearment, the way it rolls off his tongue, the way he watches her face carefully afterwards to make sure he hasn't overstepped. "Of course."

She wonders if it is wrong for her to find his hesitation and fumbling affections endearing, if she should be reassuring him further still. But she thinks she has made her position on their relationship quite clear, and any remaining insecurities can only be chased away by time.

She tries for a self-deprecating smile herself. "You'll be doing most of the work, I think," she says. "I don't know anything about this world, what it's like, all the strange things they use."

Rumplestiltskin smiles gently at her, hopefully. Belle thinks that she's never seen a more beautiful smile in the world. "You did want to see the world, as I recall," he says, and there's a bit of the showy imp sliding back into his tone now.

He retrieves his cane from where it leans against the well, takes a step back, then gives a theatrical bow and offers his arm. "Shall I introduce you to _this_ world then, my lady?"

A huge, silly grin spreads across Belle's face, and she drops a slight curtsy before taking his proffered arm. "There's nothing I'd rather do."

She looks up at his face hopefully, her eyes straying to his lips almost against her will. He sees where she's looking and tilts his head curiously, before appearing to make up his mind, leaning down towards her as if about to whisper a secret.

It's as good as a "kiss me again," and Belle is more than happy to oblige.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on the fact that I think the writers missed a fundamental part of Rumplestiltskin's character in writing post-curse Rumbelle. The way I see it, Rumplestiltskin has a very reductionist view of the world — what was THE turning point that caused an event? (After 300 years of manipulating things to his own ends, he'd have to be good at identifying root causes and such). So I think he wouldn't blame Regina so much as himself, especially since he helped shape Regina into being the type of jerk who would lock an innocent away just for leverage. He would think, "Regina imprisoned the woman I love, but she only had the chance to do that because *I* was a bastard to Belle and sent her away to begin with."
> 
> Don't get me wrong — I still think he'd be after Regina like bloody murder. BUT he would still blame himself more than Regina. Especially with his tendencies for self-loathing.


End file.
